


Push and Pull

by profmeteor



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (TV 2012)
Genre: Bickering, Bondage, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-30
Updated: 2014-03-30
Packaged: 2018-02-27 12:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2692505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/profmeteor/pseuds/profmeteor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It takes some effort, but Raph dominates Donnie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Push and Pull

“Now? Really?”

Raph leans a kiss into Donnie’s neck. “Why not now?”

“I’m busy.” Donnie waves a small vial of powder to demonstrate, then, perhaps sensing he’s in a precarious situation, sets it on the rack with the other glass tubes.

“You’re always busy.” Raph mouths his way down his neck, to his shoulder; Donnie huffs.

“You do realize I’m working on a new pain med? No -- of course you don’t, you meathead. It’s -- “ Raph swivels Donnie’s chair so he’s facing him. “It’s important for those of us who don’t like --” Raph kisses back up his neck. “Uh. Who don’t -- “ Across his jaw, toward his mouth. Donnie puts a hand on his face. “Oh, come on. It’s not even that late.”

“It’s five in the morning, you psycho. You realize Leo’s waking up in three hours, right?” Raph knocks his hand away and kisses him, taking his time, pressing shallow kisses on top of each other.

Donnie leans into Raph and, as he does, knocks a few petri dishes askew with a stray hand. The skittering plastic snaps him out of his trance, and he pushes Raph back. “So what’s your excuse?” he snaps. “Really, Raph, I have to finish this -- go jerk off in your turtle-nest or whatever you call it.”

Fine -- Raph didn’t want to do this the hard way (or maybe he did, a little), but if that’s what it’s come to, so be it. It’s been three days now since Donnie’s had a good night’s sleep, and Raph has a better remedy than meditation or exercise or whatever else common sense (that is, Leo) might suggest. He folds his arms across his chest and waits.

Donnie turns back to his work with a sniffly little noise, assuming victory. That’s how Raph knows he needs more sleep -- if he really thinks Raph’s gonna give up that easily, he’s out of his mind. Raph is just generous enough to wait until Donnie’s hands are empty -- which takes longer than it should, between glass vials and pipettes and all the other fragile, spindly equipment he uses. Then, as Donnie is reaching for a notebook, Raph grabs the back of the chair, wheels him around, and picks him up, hefting him over his shoulders like livestock.

Donnie yelps and thrashes -- he’s heavy, but unwilling to use that in his lab, with so much delicate equipment at stake. “Put me down -- Raph -- put me --” Raph squeezes his upper thigh, eliciting a squeak and then a snarled insult that’s so colorful he must’ve picked it up from Casey.

Raph laughs. “You keep up your squawking, see where it gets you.” He kicks open the door and side-steps through it; Donnie groans and goes limp. He could put Donnie down, probably, and walk-slash-bully him the rest of the way, but this is more fun by far.

*

In Donnie’s room, he’s still complacent, enough so that Raph’s starting to get suspicious. When he dumps Donnie on the bed, Donnie starts kissing him right away, just how Raph likes it, rough and heavy, and he goes for Raph’s cloaca without so much as a stroke anywhere else. Raph’s so pleased with himself that he falls for it -- the grind, the push and pull, the mumbled insults that are too affectionate to really sting, the steady way Donnie fingers him. Then, just as he unsheathes into Donnie’s nimble hand, it strikes him: The conniving twerp is trying to get Raph off with a quick fuck so he can get back to work.

Stewing, Raph begins to lay a trap of his own. He lets Donnie straddle him, lets him tongue at his throat, presses deep, needy kisses to Donnie’s mouth. Meanwhile, his hands work at Donnie’s belt, feeling for the length of rope he knows is there. When he finds it, he smirks to himself -- all he needs now is to divest Donnie of his bō and belt and then they’re good to go.

Donnie’s happy to oblige his fumbling request. He shrugs off his bō and undoes his belt; they clatter to the floor, out of sight, out of mind, which is no good for a ninja but just fine for a horny mutant. Raph slips the rope behind his back. Bites Donnie’s lip, hard, until he can taste blood and Donnie’s gasping, then tips him back onto the bed and pins his arms over his head.

“Ow, for Darwin’s sake, Raph, we’re not actually animals, you know -- oh, no.” He’s spotted the length of rope.

“Oh, yes.”

Donnie squirms, caught somewhere between anticipation and annoyance. He must really be preoccupied with his work if he’s looking like that, his eyes darting as quick as his thoughts. “Just another hour,” he bargains.

“Nope. That junk can wait until tomorrow.”

“Of course you think that; you don’t even know what I’m doing. Do nociceptors mean anything to you?”

“Nope,” Raph says, unfurling the rope. He loops it a few times around Donnie’s wrists, one after the other, tying thick cuffs more because they’re simple than anything else.

Donnie cranes his head to watch Raph work. “It should mean something to you,” he continues, when Raph doesn’t elaborate. “It’s only the way your neurological system communicates -- even the slightest bit of pain, your sensitivity to heat and cold -- “

“Y’know, Donnie, for someone who’s about to get nailed within an inch of his life, you’re being really unsexy.”

“Oh, spare me. You couldn’t ‘nail’ me that well if you had two hammers and a pop-up book showing you how it’s done. How about another half hour?”

Raph tightens the rope one length at a time until the cuffs are secure -- and then, because Donnie’s being a prick tonight, he tightens the rope until it’s biting into his wrists. Donnie hisses, then relaxes, something half-lidded and faraway settling over him. “Don’t make me gag you,” Raph says. “I will.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Raph ties him to the headboard, making sure there’s some give. “Right -- I’d just choke you with my cock.”

Donnie laughs at that, throwing his head back. “That’s a new one. You try that out on Casey, first?”

Raph smacks him across the face. His hand stings, but it’s nothing compared to the starburst of pain in Donnie’s face, if his gasp and stunned silence mean anything. He leans down and kisses Donnie’s exposed cheek, a little gruff, mostly gentle. “Shut the hell up, you nerd.”

Donnie shifts, twists his wrists against the rope. He nods. Licks his lips. Raph pats his cheek, rough enough to jar him, then sits back and fishes his own length of rope out of his belt.

“Is it really five?” Donnie asks, as Raph hoists one of his thighs up. There is something disconnected about the way he asks -- like he’s drifted too far out to sea.

Raph doesn’t answer right away, working on Donnie’s thighs. “Probably 5:30, now. You have too much leg, Don.”

“Not enough,” Donnie mumbles. “I oughta be seven feet tall. Could you imagine? How I’d loom over you and Leo?”

“You already do.”

“Right, but even more.”

Raph stops again, halfway through tying Don’s legs to the headboard with long, swooping lines that should have just enough give. He rubs a thumb over the rope. “Shut up, Donnie,” he says. “I forgot how annoying you are when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“I never forget how annoying you are,” Donnie says fondly.

Raph backhands him, wishing he had more momentum to work with, but just like that, Donnie’s cock slips out from the slit of his cloaca. That’s enough to remind Raph of his own need, a steady heartbeat between his legs, a prickling down his back. He tightens the knots -- tugs them to test -- then slaps Donnie again with a loud crack. Donnie hisses through his teeth and turns his head into his arm.

God, Raph wants to pound him into the mattress. He fumbles with Donnie’s side-table, jerking himself off as he does, while Donnie, lithe and long and slipping into himself, goes very, very still on the bed. The air is palpable, a heaviness like the musk of sex after they’re done, weight that threatens to drag Raph under just as insistently as his anger does. He slicks himself hastily -- that’s not as important as Donnie, and he’s worried about getting off too fast, is never sure how long he’s gonna last once Donnie’s eyes go low and dark and pliant, when he gives in like this.

Raph pours too much lube on Donnie; it drips on the bed as he maneuvers a finger into him. Donnie gasps and arches when he pushes in, twists as it hits the first knuckle, tries to close his legs at the second. The low, satisfied noise he makes when Raph crooks his finger makes Raph’s cock twitch.

“See?” Donnie says, a little dazed, a little breathless. “You are good for something.”

“At least I’m not just pretty window-dressing,” Raph says, thrusting rough as he can when Donnie’s so relaxed.

Donnie smiles. “You think I’m pretty? Oh, Raph, I might blu -- oh.” He actually does blush as Raph presses his other finger in; he’s tight, and Raph has to work it in slow. When both fingers are knuckle-deep, he starts to fuck him like that -- and Donnie’s slick and ready but not that ready, and Raph takes advantage of his surprise, finger-fucking him until his whole body is rocking with the force of it and Donnie’s clutching the ropes. Normally, Raph takes it one finger at a time -- sometimes it’s too much to have both fingers, when they’re so thick and the wraps are as rough as they are, but Donnie takes it like a pro, rutting his hips up against Raph’s hand, his toes curling.

Raph can’t take this for very long -- just watching, his own cock untouched and aching for it, his whole body buzzing with want. Donnie, at least, doesn’t seem to have much more fortitude than him, because it’s not long before he’s twisting against the ropes and gasping, “That’s enough, Raph. I -- ”

Raph goes very still. Donnie keeps rutting against him with slick, desperate noises. “Say it.”

Donnie bites his lip. He settles for: “You know what.”

Raph drags his fingers out, slow, slow, and Donnie tries to clench around him, tries to shut his legs, but the rope bites at his thighs. “No, I don’t,” he says. He slides both of his hands up Donnie’s strong thighs, pressing down as he does, pushing the vulnerable pose further and further until Donnie whines.

It takes Donnie a moment to collect himself, but when he does, he says: “I wouldn’t play dumb if I were you.”

Raph smacks his thigh, leaving a faint imprint. Donnie jerks; his cock twitches against his plastron, the head wet with precome. “What was that?” he asks, pretending to lean in to hear and grinding his cock against Donnie as he does.

Donnie groans, flushed, arching into his cock. “Fuck me, you jackass.”

Raph slaps him as hard as he can, so hard that Donnie shudders in the aftershocks of the pain. Then, he sinks into Donnie, pressing in a slow, steady stretch that compliments the sharpness of the pain. He braces himself against Donnie’s legs, overwhelmed. After the initial thrust he can’t help himself -- he rocks into Donnie, shallow and needy as he situates himself, and then with long, desperate thrusts that shake Donnie’s whole body.

Donnie opens his mouth, shuts it -- almost like he means to say something -- and then Raph finds the right angle and thrusts, and Donnie moans instead.

“That’s right,” Raph pants, fucking him with erratic thrusts. “Take it, that’s right -- you like it? Donnie?”

“Sh-shut up,” Donnie says.

“Fuck you,” Raph says, then repeats it, a soft mantra under his breath, then when he realizes what he’s saying, changes it to anything and everything he can think of, a stream of half-thoughts and abuse and love, one after another, while Donnie squirms under him and moans.

They’ve done this enough that Raph can usually tell when Donnie’s about to come -- and he notices this time, the tightening of his body, the trembling in his legs, the way his head lolls like he’s been punched. Raph forces himself to stop, this time. Donnie cusses and tries to reach him, tries to grab him -- but Raph is going to have what he wants. He takes a knife from his pouch and cuts Donnie’s legs free, then turns him onto his stomach, twisting the rope so Donnie’s arms don’t twist.

Donnie ruts into the mattress, quick animalistic thrusts that make Raph want to devour him. He lifts Donnie’s hips and pushes back in, not quite as steady as he’d like but it gets the job done, and starts to drive into him, one hand braced on his hip and the other holding him down by the back of the neck.

Donnie pushes greedily back on Raph’s cock and yanks at the rope, bites his pillow so he won’t sound as desperate as he is. When he comes, he clenches around Raph, untouched, silent, bucking and bucking as he comes all over himself and the bed. Raph’s not long after, fucking him until Donnie’s come back down and then some, overwhelmed by the sleepy, sated way Donnie purrs and the way that purr goes straight through them, vibrates between their shells.

Raph pulls out and comes on his shell, just holding Donnie, head thrown back, taken somewhere else for just a moment, a place where there’s only the two of them and a heavy air full of the scent of them. Coming down to reality is almost as good.

*

“Did you have to cut the rope?” Donnie asks, half-asleep already.

“It wasn’t yours,” Raph says. “Quit whining about it.”

Donnie yawns and tugs the covers higher. “You could sleep in here, you know.”

Raph hesitates, takes the opportunity to fiddle with the rag. He’s muddled, and tired, but not so much that he’s willing to risk the questions that would entail in the morning. “You know I snore,” he says, instead of the truth. “I’d keep you up.”

Donnie mumbles something, eyes drifting shut.

“G’night,” Raph says. Donnie hums into his pillow. A few moments later, his breathing evens out and his weight settles into the bed, heavy and relaxed. It’s only then that Raph considers it safe to kiss his cheek -- and then he’s gone, moving so quietly that not a single paper stirs in the hushed room.

He’ll leave Donnie to his dreams.


End file.
